


Little Wins

by Tricksterburd



Category: Steam Powered Giraffe
Genre: Angst, Gen, Major Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-12
Updated: 2012-06-12
Packaged: 2017-11-07 13:33:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/431729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tricksterburd/pseuds/Tricksterburd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Rabbit's malfunctions aren’t these cute little tics?  Edited, fixed the problems that were in the original posting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Wins

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Tumblr prompt found here: http://neckreductionsurgery.tumblr.com/post/24928948847/wait-what-if-iff-what-if-rabbits-malfunctions 
> 
> Also, I don't own Steam Powered Giraffe. It doesn't look like there are any fics for them here? I'm sorry. Um, if there's some unspoken (or, even if it is spoke/written?) rule that we shouldn't put these here I'll take it down. Just, you know, KINDLY let me know? Thanks.

If Reed had to give Rabbit a new name, it would be King of Self Repair.  He all but flat out refused to be fixed unless something fell off, and even then it was like pulling teeth.  Reed sometimes wondered how he did it.

On stage, Rabbit would constantly be seen tightening screws and bolts on his jaw, in his elbow, tweaking his balance with a wiggle-dance of his hips.  He used the edge of the second knuckle joint of his index fingers as screwdrivers whenever this happened, so much that Sam had suggested actually attaching screwdrivers in his hands.  Rabbit had looked tempted, but refused in the end. 

Reed actually recalled not-so-fondly of a time when Rabbit’s right arm had fallen off.  They had come home after a lengthy musical tour and not an hour after throwing the windows open to freshen the manor up, his right shoulder bolt sheered in half and PLOP there the arm went.  Rather than having anyone help him, Rabbit just picked it up by the wrist and took it with him wherever he went, upper-arm dragging on the ground without a care.

“Rabbit, let me put that back on, please?”

“N-n-n-n-nnnno thanks Mmmmmmmmmmmmmista’ Reed, I got it.” 

“I’m sure you do buddy.”

It took four days of Rabbit dragging it around before Spine finally picked him up by his collar and plunked him down on the workshop table with a firm “Stay” and “Fix.”  Sam had been more than happy to replace the bolt and re-solder the wires.  Rabbit sulked for days, and it was found later that he had spent the time aging and wearing the bolt until it matched the previous one that had broken.  No one really understood it. Still didn’t really.

While The Spine and The Jon kept themselves in tip-top repair, the only time that Rabbit willingly went to find help was when his voice stopped working, or his bellows weren’t filling the way they should.  Then he scampered off to Steve, having the Sound Engineer repair their livelihood.  Rabbit loved to talk, and would play his melodica at ungodly hours; the thought of being unable to speak or sing or play terrified him to actually having something done right away rather than putting it off or attempting to fix it himself. 

But when it came to cleaning rust off his ankle joints, or replacing the stripped nut that kept his jaw together, he just wouldn’t hear of it.  Even Upgrade stopped by now and again when she was in town to have a quick look over and fix anything that needed to be patched. 

Rabbit’s tics and stutter and loose bolts had been getting worse lately.  It was to be expected; metal doesn’t last forever, it didn’t stay whole and perfect, and with the amount of running around and talking and general abuse he put himself through it really did not come as a surprise that he would be falling apart.  Life happens.  Reed just wished he’d let them take care of him. 

The worst episode was just a few nights ago, on stage, in the middle of _“Honeybee.”_   It was a crowd pleaser, a love song, one of Rabbit’s specialties and one he always put that clockwork heart of his into.  Three fourths of the way through, his neck piston snapped his head to the side violently, making it shutter and shake as it kept trying to force it completely around, arms that once rested at his back now pulling up tight behind him.

“Set set set set set set ssssssssssetsetsetset set set set sssseee-e-e-e-e-e-tttttttt-t-t-t-t EEEEEEEEEETTTTTTTTTTTTTEEEEEE”  The repetitions turned to a horrid screech that forced the audience to cover their ears in pain, made Steve pull the audio completely out, and made Sam leap over his drums to try and shut Rabbit off before he wrenched his joints out.  Yanking a wire out of the bot’s neck Rabbit shut down with the loss of power to his head, body going rigid as his neck slumped and blue and green blinked out of existence. 

Spine and Jon couldn’t watch.  They knew this was coming; it had only been a matter of time.

“Spine?”  Mike hissed, quiet, leaning into the tall silver one’s ear.  “Get him off stage.  We need to finish this with grace.  If we want to repair him, we need money.  Money comes from gigs.  If we want to fix him we need to be able to come _back_ here.  Get him off, we’ll do Ju Ju, Steve can play the recording of Rabbit’s part.  It’s fine.  Just do it quickly.” 

Spine did not protest.

Rabbit hadn’t spoken to anyone after they reconnected the wires, allowing him to power up once more.  While Mike, Mr. Reed, wanted to update Rabbit while he was out, Spine and Jon had stood over their copper counterpart and refused. 

“It’s not right to do that kinda thing to ‘im while he’s out.”  The Jon muttered, shy about voicing against their care takers.  Sam admitted later that trying to bring Rabbit up to par while he was out left a foul taste in his mouth anyway. 

“He can’t give us consent.  It’s weird.  I don’t like it.”  Mike privately agreed with him. 

Michael Reed found Rabbit almost a week later, curled up on Walter the first’s bedroom floor.  Rabbit had been adamant after the man had died that his room wasn’t to be changed.  Whenever the robot was overly emotional (could they even do that?  Reed believe they could, though he’d be hard pressed to admit it) he would come here, or the study, and demand to be left alone. 

Right then, he was cradling brass frames with old pictures to his chest.  Colonel Walter II, Walter III, even Guy Hottie; whom Reed only knew of because the picture has a newspaper clipping attached to it with his name on it.  Sitting cross-legged on the ground beside Rabbit, Reed took him in.  The automaton is on the floor beside the bed; after their creator had died in it he couldn’t bring himself to actually touch the sheets themselves.  Curled into the tightest ball the unbending metal would allow, the photo-receptors of blue and green were almost closed, dim in the low-power state Rabbit had put himself into. 

“You can’t stay here you know.  You’ll need water to keep that steam going eventually.”  Reed hated when Rabbit was quiet like this. Rabbit was loud, boisterous, friendly. This wasn’t natural. 

“Why did you you you you shut me down so far?”

“Huh?”

“Why why whwhwhwhwwhwhy did you turn me off?”

“Oh.  We had to keep you from hurting yourself, you looked about to rip your own arms off.”

“What what what would you havvvvvvvvve done if I didn’tttt wake up?” 

This threw Reed for a loop.  He hadn’t thought of that before.  Obviously Rabbit did.  Did the robot even turn himself off at night anymore?  Good question, actually. 

“I’m sure you’ll always wake up Rabbit.”  A lie, Reed had never been very good at lying to Rabbit.  “And if you didn’t wake yourself up, we’d wake you up, you know that.”

“What if you couldn’t?”

There was a full sentence.  Something that had become hard to come by from the bot.  He had always stuttered, lightly, always had letters that would run together.  But it had been getting worse as time went on.

“What’s with the pictures, Rabbit?” 

“Where do humans go when they die?”

Well that was out of left field. 

“Well, um.  I guess it depends on the person.  Good people go to good places and bad people go to… bad… plac _es_?”

“Do robots go to these places too when they die?”

Oh.  Oh poop.  Reed hadn’t known what to do with that.  Truth was, there were no robots out there like Peter’s four spectacular singing fighting sensations.  And to Reed’s knowledge, none of them had died?  No, no wait, that was a lie too.  Rabbit, Rabbit _had_.

“What’s with the pictures Rabbit.”  Reed asked again.  Rabbit sat up, holding the pictures tighter.

“I killed killed killed them.”

“No you didn’t Rabbit.  I don’t think you’ve ever killed anyone, ever.”

“But I did did did.”

“Why do you say that?”  There was oil pooling under Rabbit’s eyes as he hugged the frames so tightly the glass cracked.

“He stole my core.  I don’t remember him him him him ggggrgrgrgrabbing me.  But they trtrtr-tr-trtried to get it back.  And they died.” 

“That doesn’t mean you killed them.”  Reed knew this story.  Technically, without his core, Rabbit was dead.  His power source had been stolen, had exploded, had vaporized two people…

But Rabbit had been dead.  And, just a week ago, with his wires cut, he had been dead then too.  Reed didn’t like that thought very much.  Rabbit put the pictures to the side, oil running down his copper “cheeks” by this time.  He opened his shirt, rapping his knuckles against the copper plate over his power core.

“They died to get get get this b-b-back to me.  You c-c-can’t take it.  Papa ma-ma-ma-mmmmm-made me this way.  Don’t ch-change me.”

“We don’t want to change you Rabbit, we just want to keep you running.”

“Sp-Spine lets you chaaaaange him.  SomeTTTTIIIiiiimes I think he didn’t didn’t didn’t like what papa made.  Wants to be ‘im-im-improved.’  Papa did a g-g-g-gggood job the firfirst time.”

Ah.  Yeah, that made sense.  Rabbit put two and two together.  Someone gave their life to get his old parts back rather than just make him new ones, and now he didn’t want to play down that sacrifice as though it didn’t matter.  After being through two world wars and a police action, Reed could believe that.  Jon and Rabbit acted stupid, but they were like children.  They absorbed information like sponges, made connections that “adults” never really thought of.  And they had been sent to war.  And were now performing for a living.  And after one hundred fifteen (give or take) years, were becoming rusting pieces of time. 

“Do you think Peter would have liked to see you fall apart, Rabbit?”  The robot buttoned his shirt back together, chewing on Reed’s question. 

“Why wouldn’t Papa fix me before he leftleftleftleft?”

“I think it was because he trusted others to love you the way he did.”

Rabbit had nothing to say.  So he just picked up the pictures and gazed at them again.  Reed pushed himself to his feet, cracking his back as he did so.  He really shouldn’t sit on the floor for so long.  He extended a hand, though really Rabbit wouldn’t need it.  He hopped. 

“Come on Rabbit, let’s just see what’s wrong, okay?  I won’t fix or change anything without asking you first.  Maybe it’s just a loose wire somewhere, yeah?  I’ll just look, I promise.”  Rabbit eyed the hand a moment, before taking it carefully and hoisting himself upright. 

Reed marked this day as a win for their weird little family.

**Author's Note:**

> Edited! Sorry about that!


End file.
